He found that outraged hero sitting moodily in his study like Achilles in his tent.
Seeing Bob, he became all animation.
“Look here,” he said, “I wanted to see you. You know, that frightful young brother of yours——”
“I know, I know,” said Bob. “Burgess was telling me. He wants kicking.”
“He wants a frightful licking from the prefects,” emended the aggrieved party.
“Well, I don’t know, you know. Not much good lugging the prefects into it, is there? I mean, apart from everything else, not much of a catch for me, would it be, having to sit there and look on. I’m a prefect, too, you know.”
Firby-Smith looked a little blank at this. He had a great admiration for Bob.
“I didn’t think of you,” he said.
“I thought you hadn’t,” said Bob. “You see it now, though, don’t you?”
Firby-Smith returned to the original grievance.